~ Gayathri Nair
The clouds began to part. Long leaves stemming out and tapering from the well-built palms lined the river, while drops of water trickled down -- tip tip
onto the grass, like an hourglass slowly seeping itself of sand.
Madhavan stood on the edge of his boat, half the boat filled with coconuts, and the other half with sturdy boards to sit on. With one hand on his waist, his eyes were set on the mainland, waiting for crowds of people with beige floral hats, or flowy dresses to flood in.
His legs and arms- slightly muscular and tanned, contrasted his exposed chest with its protruding ribs- a product of the lack of travelers that visit the backwaters anymore. He wore a saffron dhoti, reaching right above his knee. Anything more would invite the sweltering heat to consume him.
The wooden boat creaked against the water, it was old- Madhavan’s father had made it himself.